


Collision

by jostxnneil



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: College AU, I was supposed to be studying, Slow Burn, a crashingly good time, have fun, keith runs over lance with his bike, on accident, this happened instead, you could say their first meeting is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-29
Updated: 2017-09-29
Packaged: 2019-01-06 21:00:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12218868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jostxnneil/pseuds/jostxnneil
Summary: Lance was just trying to get to his evening class on time for once, but instead, he gets hit by a bike, and his bad day quickly gets worse. Especially when he realizes that he spilled his coffee in the fall.At least the guy is cute.





	Collision

**Author's Note:**

> i haven't edited or proofread this at all, so. heads up. if it's terrible, that's why. also because i wrote this while sleep-deprived and caffeinated. these boys and i have that thing in common where we're all literal walking disasters.

Lance was running late.

This was nothing new—except that he’d been late to this class _every fucking day_ for the past two weeks and his professor was starting to hate him and he just _knew_ that if he was late today he was going to end up with a passive aggressively terrible participation grade.

So here he was, literally running across campus, holding his right arm awkwardly out to the side to avoid spilling his coffee, which was probably the only thing getting him through this progressively shittier day at this point.

He probably looks insane, especially considering that it’s nearly 8pm and already mostly dark outside and _raining._

Lance has always loved rain, but at this moment? He’s cursing every fucking possible higher power that he’s ever heard of in his entire life.

Maybe that’s why the universe decides to up the ante on his bad day and turn it into an official Bad Day, once and for all.

The bike comes out of nowhere—just, one second he’s splashing determinedly through a puddle and the next his coffee is flying out of his hand and there’s a second body landing half on top of him as they all go skidding across the pavement in a tangled mess.

His hands go out automatically to steady the person who’s just collided with him, probably as a side effect of all the years he’s spent doing damage control on accidents just like this with his family. They land on his chest when they both finally stop rolling, and for a moment, he just lets himself lay there, trying to get his breath back.

Then he groans as pain flares in what has to be about 90% of his body.

“Shit—oh, shit, I’m so fucking sorry, um—here, let me—” The person scrambles to get off of him, accidentally elbowing him in his already sore ribs as they do so, and he finally opens his eyes to focus on their face through the haze, and—

 _Fuck._ He’s cute.

Lance dramatically drapes his arm over his face before turning his head to squint at his coffee cup, now half-crushed on the ground a few feet away, contents spilled and soaking into the sidewalk.

“My _coffee,_ ” he whines, and above him, the guys eyebrows draw together in what’s either confusion, concern, or annoyance.

It’s Lance, so the jury’s always out on that one.

“You just got hit by a bike, you’re bruised and bloody from head to toe, and _that’s_ what you’re worried about?” he asks, and.

Yeah, Lance can kinda see where he’s coming from. He’s just—he’s _so done_ , at this point.

He sighs, and hauls himself into a sitting position, ignoring the way his body screams at him and the worried flutter of Biker Boy’s hands as he does so.

“Look, man—this is just the icing on the cake of a very bad day. The coffee was what was getting me through it, and now it’s gone and I still have to go to class—” His eyes widen as he remembers, and he suddenly lurches to his feet, grabbing for his phone—miraculously still intact—to check the time. “ _Fuck,_ I’m late!”

He looks wildly around, gathering up the stuff that spilled from his messenger bag in the crash, while Biker Boy hovers awkwardly, still stuttering apologies and offering help.

With the exception of his awful mullet, Lance would normally be _very_ receptive to getting help from him, but right now, he just—can’t. He has to get to class.

“Wait, you can’t just—you’re _hurt_ , you need to go to the health center or something—”

“I’m fine, I’m sure it looks worse than it is—I appreciate the concern and all but I really have to go or my professor is going to literally murder me—” Lance rambles, starting to power walk towards his building.

The boy follows close behind him, almost stepping on his heels.

“But you—half your face is bloody and you’re limping and honestly you look like an extra in a bad 80’s horror film—”

Lance snorts. “Says the guy with the mullet.”

“My hair _grows_ this way—”

“Sure, sweetheart,” Lance drawls, a flush of relief washing over him as his building comes into sight. “You just gonna leave your bike behind?”

“No—fuck—I just—” He finally throws his hands up in the air with an aggravated huff, scowling. “I’m just trying to _help.”_

“And I’m trying to get to class. Nice meeting you, thanks for spilling my coffee and making me late, I hope we meet again. Bye!”

And Lance disappears through the double doors of his building, flicking his fingers in a sarcastic salute.

The enraged look on the guy’s face _almost_ makes him feel guilty, but the adrenaline of the moment is wearing off and he’s really starting to feel that fall now.

He can’t help it if he’s just a _little_ annoyed.

When he pushes open the door to his classroom—already closed, of course, just to make it more humiliating for late students to enter—he’s not sure what he’s expecting.

“Lance, how nice of you to join—us.” His professor stutters to a stop upon seeing him, eyes widening with something that might be shock.

Lance just stands there for a second, dripping blood and rainwater onto the tile floor, and then he makes his way to his usual seat by the wall, dropping into it with slightly more force than is strictly necessary or smart.

“I did make an effort to be here on time tonight, Professor, but it seems circumstances were against me, as always,” he replies, voice sticky sweet, and she narrows her eyes at him but seems to ultimately decide not to pursue it.

Huh. He must look worse than he thought.

His head is spinning, and he could really use some of the coffee that’s currently swirling down the street drains with the rain.

Unfortunately, for the next hour and a half, he’ll just have to deal with it.

He lets out a quiet sigh, rubbing his knuckles across his forehead and wrinkling his lip in disgust when his hand comes away bloody.

This is going to be a _long_ _fucking class._

………………………..

When Lance gets out of class, stumbling with exhaustion, all he wants is to go home.

What he does _not_ want is to be greeted with the cause of his current misery, leaning against the bike rack with his arms crossed, scowling fiercely enough that it looks like it might hurt.

His shoulders slump, and he takes a moment to stare up at the sky pleadingly before sighing and resigning himself to an even longer night than he was already anticipating.

“What are you still doing here?” he asks tiredly.

The guy blinks at him, scowl softening infinitesmally. “I wanted to make sure you were okay. You hit your head pretty hard.”

Lance shrugs, reaching a hand up to run his fingers through his hair. “You didn’t have to do that.”

He shrugs. “Kinda did.”

“No, you really didn’t,” Lance insists, but the guy just raises an eyebrow, so he drops it. “Fine, man. Whatever.”

They stand there in awkward silence before the guy finally uncrosses his arms, shifting instead to stand up straight, peering closely at him as though he’s something to be studied.

“So…are you?” he asks.

“Am I what?” Lance replies, confused.

“Okay?”

“Oh.” Lance honestly…isn’t sure if he’s okay or not. Everything hurts, his head aches, and he could really go for that coffee considering he has a twenty minute walk and homework to finish. “Uh…yeah, I guess?”

“You sure? ‘Cuz you don’t really look it.”

Okay, now he’s annoyed again. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Have you looked in a mirror? You’re kind of a mess.”

Lance opens his mouth to argue, before realizing that, no, he hasn’t seen what he looks like yet. He kinda doesn’t want to know.

“Yeah, I guess I probably am,” he admits, shaking his head at himself. “I’ll be okay, though, man, you don’t have to worry. But—are you?”

For some reason, his concern seems to confuse the guy.

“I’m—why are you even asking? I hit you? You’re bleeding?”

Lance shrugs. “It’s dark, and raining, and I was running. You probably didn’t even see me until it was too late to do anything, so. Not your fault. But you fell too, dude—yeah, I broke your fall a bit there, but you flew over your handlebars? That couldn’t have felt nice?”

His face scrunches, but he shakes his head. “Yeah, no, it didn’t—but I’m fine. Like you said, you broke my fall. Um, thanks for that, by the way. I probably would’ve cracked my head open on the sidewalk if you hadn’t grabbed onto me.”

Lance waves a hand impatiently. “No big deal, man; it’s a reflex at this point. My nieces and nephews are always getting into shit like that. Someone’s gotta make sure they don’t kill themselves before they reach adulthood.”

“Yeah, well, still—thank you.”

They lapse into silence again, until Lance finally awkwardly gestures towards the road. “I’ve kinda—I’ve gotta get home. I still have a few things to do tonight.”

“Oh! Right, right, I’m sorry, I just—I didn’t mean to hold you up or anything…”

Lance’s lips quirk in a small smile—the nervous rambling is kind of endearing.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m glad you waited to check up on me,” he finds himself saying.

He blushes. “Y-yeah? I was just—I’ve had a concussion before, so. Not my first wreck. I know they can be pretty awful.”

“Nothing time and ibuprofen won’t fix,” Lance reassures him, and he nods, running his finger through his long hair.

“Yeah…” he mutters.

“Um. Well, I should—get going,” Lance says, and starts walking, miserable mood starting to return as he remembers the long walk back to his apartment.

“Wait—” he shouts, grabbing his arm and then immediately letting go as if he was burned. “Sorry! Sorry, I just—do you want me to walk you home?”

Lance stares at him.

“Just—uh, to make sure you get there safely. Wouldn’t want you passing out halfway there or something,” he explains.

“It won’t—um, it’s not a short walk? Are you sure you don’t mind?” Lance asks.

“No, no, not at all—I have my bike. And it’s not that far out of my way anyway, from what I can tell,” he says.

He brushes his bangs back from his forehead—they’re damp from the rain, sticking to his skin, and Lance gets his first good look at his eyes.

They’re some unnaturally pretty purple-blue color, and Lance wishes the universe had hit him with a car instead of a bike for one desperate moment.

Fuck.

“Yeah, sure—um. It’s this way,” he says, gesturing to the road ahead of him. “Thanks.”

The guy bends down, unlocking his bike, and pushes it forward, coming to walk next to Lance. “Well, since you cushioned my fall and therefore saved me from having to explain another broken nose to my brother, I figure I kind of owe you.”

“Yeah?” Lance asks, and finds himself smiling again.

“Yeah.”

Lance lets his gaze linger on the guy’s face for just a second longer than normal, watching the way the streetlights cast his features in shadows that only make him that much more appealing.

“Well, in that case, maybe we can start with names? I’m Lance,” he says, reaching his hand out to the side.

The guy stares at him and then his hand for a moment before finally reaching out and grabbing it in a firm handshake. “Keith.”

He’s wearing fingerless leather gloves, and Lance can feel the warmth of his skin through them despite the cold mist from the autumn rain.

Keith— _Keith,_ Lance thinks, rolling the name around in his head—has horrid fashion sense, and that is most definitely a mullet, and he spilled Lance’s coffee, and his eyes are the prettiest shade of violet Lance has ever seen.

Yeah. He’s well and truly fucked.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Come talk to me on [tumblr](https://jostxnneil.tumblr.com/)!


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